name: fiona
info: livin in skeleton hell
players:
xp:
about: hi, i'm fiona and tumblr and rockstars are ruining my life and I'm letting them

thecarvingwitch:

It’s about 20 degrees cooler in this shade

Anonymous said: please elaborate on how you got a substitute teacher to quit within one day. I'm genuinely curious.

mamalovebone:

all right everyone sit down, shut up and listen closely because I’m about to tell y’all the tale of Ms. Mormino.

Seventh grade is a time most people don’t look back on fondly. I know I sure don’t—I tend to regard that era as nothing more than an unpleasant, acne-filled haze of fall out boy and poor attempts at pseudo-zooey deschanel fashions. But enough about me. Let’s talk about my math teacher. 

Ms. Isom. Poor old Ms. Isom. Well in her 60’s, always plagued with some illness or injury, she was hardly ever even at school. Since many of her absences were the result of short-notice incidents—“falling down the stairs” was popularly cited— it wasn’t all that uncommon to not have a substitute on hand. Being a smartass honors class, we’d gotten away with several successful evasions of administration, walking cavalierly into class  to pass the next 48 minutes doing just about nothing. Hell, for good measure, we’d sometimes even toss in a friendly “hey, Ms. Isom!” if any administrators were anywhere within earshot. So incredibly anti-establishment, you could basically call it another Project Mayhem, except instead of Brad Pitt and Ed Norton concocting homemade bombs, it was a bunch of tweenyboppers with iPhone 3’s and Justin Bieber 2009 haircuts. 

 We got pretty accustomed to our own little self-governing system that rolled around every second period, so we naturally weren’t exactly thrilled when administration caught on to our little Anarchy Act and strictly enforced the presence of a substitute every day. 

Most of our subs weren’t terrible—most were friendly, gave us participation grades, and didn’t object to the independent attitude of our class (which, mind you, only had about ten students in it) 

That is, until Ms. Mormino came along. 

Four feet, ten inches of raw, undiluted evil, Ms. Mormino walked into class with a scowl on her face and a chip on her shoulder. When the girl behind me sneezed, Ms. Mormino’s immediate response was “NO INAPPROPRIATE NOISES!” 

 Although we all suppressed our laughter, we all knew from that moment on that, try as she might with her despotism and her draconian anti-sneeze policy, Ms. Mormino didn’t stand a chance. 

 The arguable beginning of the end for Ms. Mormino’s all-too-brief reign of terror was the moment I asked for a calculator; mine was broken. Mormino asserted that I could only borrow a calculator if I loaned her something of mine; at that moment, the girl next to me chimed in, saying she, too, needed a calculator. “I have a folder I can give you,” I offered. “I have a highlighter,” added the other girl. 

 At that moment, a puberty-creaking voice from the back of the room piped up. 

Max. 

We all know certain people have certain gifts. Michelangelo saw angels in every block of marble and devoted his life to setting them free; Einstein had a mind which saw the potential of the entire universe; F. Scott Fitzgerald wove intricate tales of decadence and depravity. Max, however, had a different kind of gift: he could make anything—anything at all—into a “that’s what she said” joke. More on that later, though. 

Max pried off a Nike sneaker and held it proudly in the air, like a coveted trophy. 

"I have a shoe." 

Tottering in one-shoe-one-sock, Max dumped the sneaker on Ms. Mormino’s desk, retrieved a calculator, then tottered back to his own desk, a sort of smirk playing on his face. And, as to be expected—the rest of us quickly followed suit. 

 A small pile of shoes on her desk, Ms. Mormino grit her teeth and glared at us as we all sat back down, quietly victorious, a calculator in each of our hands. It wasn’t long, however, until we all began to silently plot our next act of minor mayhem. 

"Can I go to the bathroom?" asked Tyler, who, despite being in seventh grade, was approaching his sixteenth birthday. In a combination of verism and admiration of Tyler’s devil-may-care boldness, we unequivocally accepted him as our leader. For reasons unknown, Ms. Mormino denied his request. Tyler, much like his Fight Club namesake, heeded no rules but his own and left anyway—Ms. Mormino, furious, locked the door behind him and smugly insisted that "administration will take care of him." 

Tyler, however, was not one to be caught, and stayed close by, appearing in the window of the door whenever Ms. Mormino wasn’t looking. Waving, smiling, laughing, making faces and obscene gestures, Tyler had us all in stitches, but cleverly avoided Ms. Mormino’s sight—when she asked us what was so funny, we all refused to give Tyler away. 

A girl asked to go to the bathroom, stating she “really really really” needed to go. Ms. Mormino, again, denied her request. Ms. Mormino, however, seemed to be uninformed about the side door—leading right outside, always locked from the outside but always open from the inside. 

"Well, I’ll go myself," the girl responded, and took off, hurdling three desks and darting out the door. Right behind her, two other students took off, pursuing freedom. The door slammed behind all three students, and they were gone. 

 Six of us were left. Among us, importantly, was Chris. 

Chris was thirteen, but looked half his age; scrawny, wiry, he probably measured in at about four-foot-three, but no taller. “Late Bloomer” are words that come to mind. 

Despite his diminutive size, Chris possessed the gall of someone like Tyler.

"I have to use the bathroom," said Chris, standing. 

 ”Do you think I’m going to allow you to go to the bathroom?” snapped Ms. Mormino. 

 ”It’s an emergency!” Chris pleaded. 

"Sit down," Ms. Mormino growled. 

Meanwhile, the entire class borders on hysteria. We have tears in our eyes, almost suffocating from choking back laughter. 

"It’s an emergency," repeated Chris, but it sounded more like a warning.

"Sit."

Silence. Silence, Silence and more silence, until we all began to notice a dark stain on Chris’s khakis. The stain grew. And grew. And grew.

 Fists at his sides, stoicism in his face, and a cold, proud, triumphant glint in his eye, Chris locked eye contact with Ms. Mormino. 

And pissed right in his pants. 

The entire class erupted into a laugh only comparable to the detonation of a bomb. 

We laughed so hard for the next five, ten, fifteen minutes straight that Ms. Mormino gave up. Surrendering, putting her head on her desk, she waited until the hysteria finally subsided. 

Finally looking up, defeated, pathetic, Ms. Mormino glared at us all and wailed: 

 ”This is too much, this is too hard, too hard, Jesus Christ, this is too much for me!” 

 A lone voice sounded from the back of the room. Guess whose it was.

"That’s what she said."

Ms. Mormino officially retired from teaching that afternoon.

kudipeaches:

Why Shane Dawson Is Racist
——————————————————————

  • Why Blackface Is Racist
  • The History of Blackface
  • Blackface & Black Minstrelsy in Relation to Stereotypical Black Characters
  • How Blackface & Black Minstrelsy Shaped White Perceptions of Black People Today
  • Briefly Explaining Modern Blackface
  • Brief Highlights of Cultural Appropriation By White Celebrities
  • Brief Highlights of Modern Day Blackface By White People
reminder for bisexuals

lyricalred:

today is bi visibility day. as such, bisexual people will be completely visible for the next 24 hours. this is a bad day to engage in bank heists, ghost impersonations, covert operations for vague yet menacing government agencies, and other common bisexual hobbies that rely upon our powers of invisibility. 

reblog to save a life. 

thepoliticalfreakshow:

Remembering African-American Victims of Murder/Police Brutality

Aiyana Stanley Jones, 7: Killed By Police While She Slept On The Couch Of Her Parent’s Home in 2010

DETROIT (AP) — A judge won’t delay the trial of a Detroit police officer who accidentally killed a 7-year-old girl during a raid, despite his attorney’s concerns that a “media frenzy” following a police shooting in Missouri could harm his client’s right to an impartial jury.

image

ABOVE: Officer Joseph Weekley, the person who murdered Aiyana Stanley-Jones

Defense lawyer Steven Fishman said police in general have been vilified in news coverage of the fatal shooting of a black 18-year-old by a white officer in Ferguson, Missouri. He fears it could rub off on the jury in the trial of Detroit Officer Joseph Weekley, who is charged with involuntary manslaughter.

Wayne County Judge Cynthia Hathaway said Weekley’s trial will start Monday as planned. She turned down a request last week to postpone it until 2015.

There is no dispute that Weekley killed Aiyana Stanley-Jones while she slept on a couch during a search for a murder suspect in 2010. But he says the shooting happened when the girl’s grandmother grabbed his gun in the chaotic moments following the use of a stun grenade. Mertilla Jones denies any interference.

This is Weekley’s second trial. The first ended without a verdict in June 2013.

In a court filing, Fishman said references to Aiyana’s death have popped up in local news stories about the Ferguson shooting and the use of military gear by police departments.

Fishman referred to a case from the 1990s in which a higher court said “inflammatory publicity,” among other factors, could spoil a jury pool.

In Weekley’s case, “all of those factors are present, particularly the media frenzy that has occurred since the incident in Ferguson,” Fishman wrote.

Prosecutors didn’t oppose or support a delay in the trial.

Moments before Aiyana was killed, police threw a stun grenade through a window, emitting smoke, bright light and vibrations to confuse people inside. The raid was recorded for a police reality TV show, “The First 48,” and some video was used at the first trial.

themusicfolder:

Title: Teen Age Riot

Artist: Sonic Youth

Album: Daydream Nation

Year: 1988

projectunbreakable:

A friend of mine shared this post on Twitter today about something one of her friend’s witnessed in NYC last night, and I felt it was important for us to post it on here - as a way of both getting the word out and seeing if anyone has any way of helping the situation (blogging, writing an article, knowledge of a missing person, etc.) Please share if you can - there has to be something we can do to help. It is possible to get in touch with the original source - please first email it to projectunbreakable@gmail.com and we will forward it to her. 

nowyoukno:

socialjusticekoolaid:

(9.23.14) — Another morning in Amerikkka. Somebody thought it would be fun to desecrate the Mike Brown Memorial early this morning. I… I really can’t even. #staywoke #farfromover

image

Here’s a picture of some cops watching the memorial burn although there seemed to be no police at the scene when the fire department arrived.

thm